Sam Shepard is now widely recognized as the greatest American playwright of his generation. Here, for the first time, is a new collection of some of his most private and autobiographical fiction and poetry, much of it the inspiration for his recent award-winning film, Paris, Texas.
Sam Shepard was an American artist who worked as an award-winning playwright, writer and actor. His many written works are known for being frank and often absurd, as well as for having an authentic sense of the style and sensibility of the gritty modern American west. He was an actor of the stage and motion pictures; a director of stage and film; author of several books of short stories, essays, and memoirs; and a musician.
I love Sam Shepard. He's kinda like the coolest man on the planet, certainly one of the most handsome. His writing is pretty good as well. It's lazy in places and sometimes indulgent, but you sort of roll with it and allow yourself to bumble along, much like the characters he writes about. I just like being part of Sam's world for a short period of time. He takes me into a mythical version of America. That does it for me.
Sam Shepard is an interesting observer/writer about life on the road, lived largely in rented rooms, among strangers. Surprising how much he has to say about his characters' thoughts, feelings and tone while not letting on that he many be talking about himself. His work in films is that of an extrovert, unlike his writing.
Motel Chronicles is a fine example how aubiographical stories can be well written and it is an excellent trip through real America: the long roads, the Indians, the Cowboys, the desert... Sam Shepard is an excellent playwright and he also writes scripts for movies. It is a surprise for all who are used to his "hard prose" in theatre and in cinema reading the softness of his prose and the almost "delicacy" of these chronicles.
Like Kerouac but less jazzy. Sometimes it’s brilliant, sometimes it’s terrible and sometimes it’s so bonkers I don’t know how to feel about it. Worth rereading when I’m no longer taking post-surgery painkillers as there’s a good chance it’s flown over my head.
The antithesis of everything that is intended for me to enjoy. I think this is why I loved it so much. Bleak language and even bleaker images of Ray-Ban-clad cowboys posing in front of trucks. The second last vignette of Motel Chronicles (29/9/80 San Francisco, Ca) sneaks up on you the most. It is beautiful. I also didn't realise how funny Sam Shepard was. On page 84, he refers to augmented breasts as "silly-cone tits". The entirety of Hawk Moon carries this similar all-American edge-lord sense of humour. A chapter titled "WIPE OUT" instructs the reader to read it whilst listening to Wild Horses by the Rolling Stones. He talks about being lonely and wanting a blowjob. He is lying next to his Les Paul Gibson and runs his tongue down the strings and it oddly reminds him of the smell/taste of pussy and blood. "Nice", he says. He continues to jerk off and he essentially fucks his guitar. He cums, laughs to himself and says, "If you try sometimes you get what you need". I read Hawk Moon in one sitting, aloud. It is obvious that Sam Shepard writes for the theatre. The punctuation, or lack thereof, indicates such a clear intention of pace and rhythm. You need to read it with a Southern accent or it won't make sense. It's all in the drawl.
since this was her home town and she'd be staying right here while we'd be moving on and the agony of being just a local stand-in left behind in a town she ached to be out of was bearing down on her now with real force and it made me suddenly re-ashamed of being a actor in a movie at all and provoking such stupid illusions so I took her to my room with no designs on her body at all and she was desperately disappointed tried to throw herself out my window I said look it's not worth it it's just a dumb movie she said it's not as dumb as life
If I found this when I was 17, and deep into beat/Gonzo writers, I would have appreciated it more. Most of the writing I thought overly confident, bordering on pretentious and machismo. Definitely enjoyed the longer pieces more than the teenage poetry or prose. They seemed less forced.
There were poignant observations that still made it a worthwhile read. For those curious about Sam Shephard, Paris Texas, or in the mood for some Americana travel writing that froths over rock n roll. The final section of Motel Chronicles was a nice dose of well-tuned realism. Would be nice read out loud.
My favorite of Shepard's prose works, from which the film Paris, Texas took its inspirations. It is a hundred pages of various precise stories, poems, reflections, impressions, some of which are absolutely spectacular in their imagery, layers of meaning and impact as they explore what makes a permanent impression on the soul. This is a re-read. Multiple times. But mainly Motel Chronicles, and not so much Hawk Moon, which was similar, but written ten years earlier, and worked mostly as training wheels for the Chronicles book.
Motel Chronicles - it was a great mix of lonely stories in the vast Texas desert and intimate memories from Shepard's childhood. The mix of poetry and prose was cool. (4.5 stars)
Hawk Moon - A bizarre mix of some really well-made stories and ones that were batshit insane. A man fucks a guitar in one of them. The poetry also didn't hit as well. (3 stars)
Pretty much just a collection of sketches, most of it not intended for public release, and it feels like it - some great stuff in here, and much of it is of interest if you’re a fan of Shepard or his work, but outside of that curio-value it’s largely non-essential.
A dreamy haze of Americana, rigid masculinity and storied interiority. Shepard strikes gold here and there with a precise, revealing characterisation; more often, though, this is loose and almost aphoristic to a flaw. It is clearly what it sets out to be, that's just not always for me.